WebNovels

Chapter 27 - Chapter: Kansas State University

Coach Ben Howland was in the final year of his contract. Even though he had led UCLA to back-to-back Final Four appearances, the university board was already scouting for new blood, eager to find someone who could replace him.

Behind the scenes, Assistant Coach Kerry Keating was working tirelessly to line up his move. He wanted the head coaching job next season, and for that, he had already secured the backing of assistants Tony Nicholls and Quentin Keen. Together, they struck a deal with Darren Collison's camp: support Keating now, and in return, Collison and his crew would get heavy minutes and the green light to shoot as much as they wanted once Keating took over.

He promised them something radical: a "dynamic offense," breaking away from John Wooden's rigid blueprint that still hung over UCLA's playbook like a ghost.

For Collison and his friends, the offer was irresistible. With Westbrook and Kevin Love surging, their own spotlight had dimmed. Staying at UCLA another year and padding their stats suddenly seemed more attractive than entering the draft early. Better numbers meant higher draft positions—and more money. The alliance was set.

The mutiny against Howland over Snoopy's playing time? That had only been their opening act.

They hadn't expected Howland to respond so forcefully.

"Crazy old man," Keating chuckled to Luc Richard Mbah a Moute afterward. "You really think that clumsy rookie, a guy who can't even dunk properly, could outplay you?"

Luc grinned. He didn't take Howland's words seriously. All he cared about was that, thanks to the coach's "blind arrogance," he was about to get his starting spot back.

"Don't worry," Luc vowed. "I won't give Snoopy a single chance."

Meanwhile, in the dorm, Snoopy was in the middle of a heated debate with Westbrook and Love—about the air conditioning.

"Twenty-three degrees Celsius. That's the perfect temperature," Westbrook insisted.

"Nineteen is better. Cooler, fresher," Kevin Love argued back.

Whenever they deadlocked, Snoopy would step in with his usual compromise. "Then why not twenty-one degrees?"

It was the middle path, the balance point, an answer rooted in his instinct for moderation.

This time, though, Kevin wasn't buying it. "I'll agree, but only if you sing Just the Way You Are for me. Better yet, record it in my home studio so I can load it onto my MP3 player."

Westbrook's eyes lit up. "Yes! I saw the YouTube video too. Wright wouldn't shut up about how amazing it was live. As my best friend, you're obligated to teach me that song. I've never done something that romantic for Nina before."

Snoopy nearly choked. "Listen, Russell. Singing isn't romance for you. It's homicide. I don't want UCLA's women's basketball team to lose their starting point guard just because you tried to serenade her."

Kevin immediately nodded in agreement, both of them sharing the same pity for Westbrook's nonexistent musical ability.

Westbrook, of course, tried to prove them wrong with a sudden burst of song. And, as always, Snoopy and Kevin made their escape at top speed.

Despite the teasing, the three of them had grown inseparable since Snoopy joined the Bruins.

Later that night, after the laughter died down, the conversation turned to something more serious: the NBA.

Kevin wanted a mid-tier team, maybe the Chicago Bulls. "They've got promising young players, but they're tanking this year. If they land the number one pick, that roster could really explode."

Westbrook dreamed bigger. "Miami. I want to play with Dwyane Wade. That's the perfect fit for me."

For both of them, the Lakers were a close second choice. Growing up in Los Angeles, the purple-and-gold wasn't just a team, it was home.

At those moments, Snoopy always grew quiet. It was the one topic he couldn't join in on.

"Hey, Snoopy," Kevin leaned forward seriously. "You really should think about this. With your talent and your body, you could get into the NBA, even as a second-round pick. Basketball doesn't close doors. Play a few years in the NBA, then head back to finance. Knowledge stays in your head forever."

Westbrook nodded, grinning. "Exactly. If you're on my team, I'll look out for you. I'll feed you the ball."

Snoopy wasn't entirely convinced. He knew Westbrook meant it… but passes from Russell were rare creatures. In the last two games, Westbrook had dished out of the paint only thirty percent of the time, and ninety percent of those went to the perimeter. The remaining ten? "Three parts destiny, seven parts the big man fighting for his life under the rim." Snoopy had learned not to expect charity.

The talk shifted again, this time to March Madness.

"Here's how it breaks down," Kevin explained. "Based on RPI, the top four are Memphis, USC, Duke, and Kansas. Those are the number one seeds. We finished thirteenth overall, which puts us as a four-seed."

Snoopy listened carefully, absorbing the rules he'd barely understood before.

The one-seeds were placed geographically, each to the nearest region. That meant Memphis to the West, USC staying local, Duke to the South, and Kansas, unlucky number four, shipped out to the East.

Then the two-seeds, five through eight, were assigned the same way. After that, geography got fuzzy, and a "snake system" took over.

By the rules, UCLA, as the top four-seed, would remain in the South Region… alongside USC.

Kevin's eyes gleamed as he laid out the bracket.

"Our first-round matchup? Kansas State University. Led by Michael Beasley, the top favorite for the number one draft pick." He couldn't hide his excitement. "This game will be nationally televised by ESPN. Every NBA scout will be there. One strong performance could outweigh everything we've done all season."

Westbrook rubbed his hands together eagerly. "That means Pat Riley will be there too. The Heat are in full tank mode, gunning for the top pick. Riley loves Beasley, but I'll steal the spotlight. He has to see it, I belong next to Wade."

Snoopy only smiled at their ambition. He didn't think about scouts, or GMs, or draft stock.

But this game mattered to him for another reason.

For Coach Howland.

He had to prove it—prove that he belonged in the lineup, that he fit UCLA's system better than Luc Richard Mbah a Moute ever could.

This game wasn't about the NBA.

It was about standing by the man who had believed in him.

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